


The Prince Consort, Part III/VI

by Persephone



Series: Willing to Take the Risk [20]
Category: Valentine's Day (2010)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Clothing Kink, Los Angeles, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9571112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: Miami. Holden broaches "the subject." Sean responds.





	1. Chapter 1

The interior of the jet was quiet, the soft whine of the engines creating an atmosphere he could concentrate perfectly in, unlike like those “soundscapes” Sean made him listen to during aromatherapy sessions. During which he was expected to sit distractingly still and _allow_ the squawk of seagulls and the threatening sounds of the ocean to _engulf_ him. Sessions he’d only committed to doing as a guaranteed eyeful of Sean’s body while Sean breathed in and out, and got balance or whatever, but which for him might as well be exposure therapy to overcome a terror of the deep. The creepy sounds were so counter-intuitive it didn’t even bare commenting.

Yet, suspended in the comforting whine, annotating a small backlog of documents, too many things were successfully clouding his concentration.

Opposite him in the jet’s cabin, Sean was fast asleep. Slouched low in the leather seat, legs stretched across their space into his seat, Sean had his sneakered feet lodged in on either side of him, bracketing him. Taking up space. But who needed armrests anyway.

Sean looked peacefully out. No signs of the past week’s stresses anywhere on him. Whereas his thoughts had jumped on a merry go round and showed no signs of getting off.

Foremost on his mind was his and Elliot’s bizarre visit to his mother. From that first afternoon he’d taken Sean to see her at the Bel-Air, he’d known that his mother didn’t care for Sean and definitely didn’t want him in the family. Had known but hadn’t let it bother him. Which wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt. And search him for a reason beyond “professional football player.” Still, he had never imagined that she could take it this far. Elliot had been caught on the fact that his dad didn’t like Darren, but _his mother_ had never thought much of Darren either. She’d never once appeared to notice that they’d been dating, for years as she herself put it. Likewise she barely acknowledged Nicola Moran’s existence. Yet because anything was better than Sean, evidently, she’d emboldened Darren to do whatever he could to tank Sean’s entry into the family. How she reasoned that this would win her favors was beyond him. Because even though Sean was circling bringing up his parents’ actual participation at their wedding, and he was grudgingly aware that to an extent he’d end up listening to Sean, so far, he was seeing no reasons to bring them any closer.

And then there was Geffen’s “surprise” party, _surprise_ like an escort-stripper waiting to pop out from behind a closed door and expose everyone’s true personality. Geffen’s “big picture” insistence on showcasing their engagement as if their marriage was set to be a party everyone was invited to, was unasked for trouble. Again he had to wonder what the hell Petey was thinking. No one said no to Geffen as a rule, but Petey could have at least taken his input and steered Geffen in a more appropriate direction.

But ultimately it had been his own actions that had made him realize he’d crossed a line. That phone call he’d almost made to his dad. Believing for even a second that his dad was the answer. His dad, for whom his lifestyle of walking away at the drop of a hat had only meant he was in control. Yes he might have been confused by his dad’s behavior on Ben’s boat, not to mention the uber sucking up in the months since, but he wasn’t at all confused about Alastair Wilson’s real thoughts on marriage. He only had to watch Beau playing hide and seek with his mother or listen to anything his mother had to say about his father on any given day to clear that up pretty quickly.

Almost making the call had served as his wake up moment. Wrath of friends be damned, he needed to think very clearly about what was going to happen between him, Sean and his exes this summer. Because these were not going to be months he could take back. He needed to make sure that whatever decision he came to would be the right one.

*

Marissa knew nothing of his mother’s binders. On listening to his descriptions of what he had seen on his mother’s garden table, she looked rattled and actually appeared to be making an effort at maintaining a professional composure. She assured him, repeatedly, that his mother could not have accessed their information unless she had taken truly extraordinary steps, but that she would nevertheless immediately look into it.

Reassured by her reaction, he thanked her, even though for his mother “extraordinary steps” amounted to merely a phone call. Still, he felt okay with her response and accepted her promise to investigate further.

His thoughts, however, were not to be expressed. Doubly so because Sean was in paradise.

Who could blame him. Even from the ballroom entrance where he had stopped to talk, it was clear that Marissa and her team had pulled out all the stops. Ever since receiving their ceremony profile, he’d frankly been unable to visualize “morning wheat” and “cornflower blue” without persistent images of actual stalks of wheat in a field. Now he could.

Cornflower blue was just a kind of…oldish blue, and morning wheat a faint gold. So basically like a...glowing yellowish brown. As soon as he had walked in he had broken into a smile. Seeing it in an online virtual gallery had done it little justice. It reminded him of Iowa.

He did notice though that in keeping with their “old world Spanish” palace venue—which he was retaining because Sean loved it so much in spite of trying to hide the fact, and because Anne had flipped for it during his last stay in Johnston, horses and stables underlined—Soirée had applied a slight rustic tone to their overall style. And he did very much dislike rustic. But there it was on the furniture and brass finishings, and somehow even on the cutlery and flatware and the baby blue forget-me-nots popping out everywhere. Perhaps seeing his glance at the nearest brocade chair, Marissa smoothly began explaining that the use of a rustic texture had been applied just enough for _touchablility_ and to bring out the “warm” feeling that was one half their “heartwarming and elegant” tone.

He smiled, restraining himself from saying what she already knew.

“And may I say,” she said. “Your two halves are truly the fabled complements to each other.”

He smiled and let her have her sales pitch moment since she had fully earned it. Where a month prior he’d stood boiling at his mother’s basic black-white-and-gold concepts, reminding him of every evening reception he’d ever attended, now he stood somewhat humbled at the emotions stirring inside him. Rustic touchability or no, the designs looked fantastic.

This was also the moment when he should have turned to Sean and smile in perfect synched up happiness, knowing they’d scaled halfway up the mountain of success.

Except that Sean had long since left them and was standing in the middle of the showroom floor, staring about him as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. A little kid seeing a life sized version of a Tonka truck for the first time couldn’t have looked more astonished.

If _he_ was pleased with their wedding design, it was fair to say that Sean was over there in a thrall.

He could see that Sean was visualizing the events of the day itself. Seeing where he and his family and friends would be taking pictures or getting videos made, around the flower and crystal filled tables and at the very pretty looking couch clusters that had been set up.

He couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. Sometimes, not often enough to suit himself these days, but sometimes he did feel that he was taking good care of Sean. Two months ago, he’d seen how impressed Sean had been with his mother’s arrangements and could no longer deny to himself that it had stung. For the sake of saving face, he’d ascribed it to Sean being in love with the thought of marriage in general, but the truth was that his mother had done what he hadn’t and she and not him had gotten a reaction from his guy.

But, having insisted on scrapping everything and starting with fresh questionnaires, and a process that actually discovered their sensibilities, seeing Sean now reacting to the results like a giant switch had been thrown and his senses turned on… Well. He felt incredibly gratified. He had won a round.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Sean pulled his phone from his jeans and held it up, tapping on it a few times. Then lowering it and apparently sending off the pictures, Sean brought the phone to his ear. “Allison,” he overheard him saying. “Check your phone. You gotta see what I’m looking at.”

He turned and smiled at Marissa, who returned a beaming, knowing smile. Aware as she probably was by now that he was her actual client and Sean their cheerleader. She extended an arm and he nodded, followed as she began the walk-around.

She broke down the rest of it, explaining the overall setup: Turkish custom-made fabrics, Italian brass hardware, the styles of the custom-designed flatware, cutlery, the very cool runners Soirée had designed, a recital of which indigenous Spanish flowers were to be incorporated per their profile, which called for lots of flowers and was Sean’s request, but which he and Anne had ended up being the ones to select the types, the use of lighting; all details which, she reminded him, were subject to change.

He nodded, trying not to seem like he was losing his attention to the infinitely more interesting and kind of dizzy conversation taking place in the middle of the ballroom. From Sean’s responses it sounded like Kay had also joined the conversation. And here he was, stuck doing the boring parts.

After seeing the showroom, they were to return to Marissa’s office where he was to go over his mother’s gift registry. A registry he’d noted included NFL-based charities and foundations; those owned by Sean’s colleagues. At least this time his mother hadn’t pretended that Sean’s side of things didn’t exist, unlike the fiasco with the invitations. So walk-around complete and Sean still on the phone, and him starting to wonder if he shouldn’t be recording as proof for later blackmail, when Sean gave him attitude about “being so into planning,” Marissa asked if he would like to go ahead and get stared on the registry. But he told her they might as well wait for Sean.

They took a seat on a side soft, and while she sat back, he returned his attention across the ballroom from where it had never really left.

Grip tellingly tight on his hip, head down and a smile on his face, Sean was intently listening to the phone call. In this mode, there would be no wisecracks about wedding planning. No quips. Just an attentive little brother taking advice from his older sisters.

And he was paying attention.

During his first stay in Johnston, that Saturday before the Super Bowl, when Sean had ditched him to take Deena and her friends decorations shopping and he’d stayed behind to bake with Allison and Kay instead, Kay had told him about how she and Allison had met. At some dull corporate conference, Kay had said. She’s said that the moment Allison had spoken to her, a thought had surfaced to her mind: _This is the woman I’m going to marry._

She’d heard the words loud and clear, Kay had said, like she’d spoken them. That it had felt crazy because she had never been the marrying kind, and had definitely never thought anything like that in her life. She had always seen marriage as the default thing that straight people did and even the habits lesbians sometimes had of shacking up overnight had never been her style. But that with Allison, a woman she had never actually met, the thought had come as naturally as breathing. And crazier still, it hadn’t freaked her out at all.

When she’d told him that story, he’d felt very self-conscious. Not just because he remembered his own freak-out at Sean’s proposal, but also for never having had that moment with Sean. Not really the type to want what others had, he hadn’t dwelled too much on it.

But he had wondered why that hadn’t happened to him. That maybe it was something that came from a place of total self-assurance about relationships, and might still be in his future when he too had reached that point.

Now, though, seated on a side sofa in Soirée’s ballroom watching Sean exhibit so much happiness with typical self-restraint, he realized that it had.

It had been in their first year, on their last day together before Sean was to return to football. Or at least how he’d understood it back then. Sean had actually been scheduled for training camp and preseason games were still a couple months away. But back then, it had just been that football season had started and Sean would no longer be there come morning.

It had been a Sunday, the first week of July. The weather had been brutally hot and they had spent most of that summer indoors in the coolness of Sean’s house. In those days, Sean had only ever been to his condo maybe twice and never overnight. Instead, Sean’s house had almost instantly become their secret space, a place where everything existed exactly as they wished it.

That day, they’d been in Sean’s kitchen, Sean at the fridge and him at the counter saying yes or no to leftover baked goods he’d be taking home with him. While Sean had been patiently pulling out and separating these things which no one else had ever seemed to notice were important to him, he had watched Sean in a half out of body state. Reflecting on whether it was all a dream. And as clearly as if he had spoken, he had heard the words. _I’m going to do everything I can to spend the rest of my life with him._

He remembered. But until that moment, his brain had simply, conveniently, erased the memory.

But with perfect clarity now, he remembered the scorching sunlight encasing the house. The white haze it had created that had made everything looked bleached. As if the ocean around them had flooded the house and left them in an underwater dream where the world was suspended and nothing strenuous was worth doing. The slow way Sean had moved around the kitchen, shirtless, self-contained, seeming larger than life.

That, he made himself now slow down and see, was his life in L.A. There was magic, secrecy and delight—and then there was the real world. And the two didn’t mix.

The memory of that afternoon, answering a question he hadn’t even wanted to pose to himself in Kay’s and Allison’s kitchen, now suddenly answered the question that had been following him around all week.

Of course he knew what to do about Sean and his exes this summer. Why would he even be confused?

And with just two and a half months until their wedding, why would Sean not go for it.

*

There were rose petals on the bathroom floor. Red, blue and gold ones, blanketing the floor of a very spacious, very decadent bathroom. A bathroom which, among such eye raising things as an archway enclosed area in which a vast copper tub was sunken, was glimmering with the light of a billion flickering candles.

The bathroom looked exactly like it had on the hotel’s website.

Arrested at the entrance, he stared in total disbelief at the completely over the top romantic scene.

Sean meanwhile, long wick in hand, was slowly moving about the room, lighting candles and slowly bringing the room to life. Sean also had a half-hidden, very self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Somehow, he stopped himself from bursting into laughter. His first thought was that with its billion flickering candles, the bathroom looked to him like he’d wandered onto the set of a Cinemax porn shoot. Complete with outsized, foaming, double occupant bathtub. Though may he never be branded a cynic, he knew to keep that particular thought to himself.

Second—

“Did you ask them to do this?” he asked Sean, almost losing his resolve and cracking up. Sean was crazy.

“Do what? Hey, listen, I’m just a guest here, just like you.”

But Sean’s smirk assured him some cheating had been involved.

He shook his head, moving into the bathroom speechlessly. Imagining what that conversation must have been like. _“We’re sorry, Mr. Jackson, but we don’t actually have gold painted rose petals on the bathroom floor…” “Huh, so what am I lookin’ at on your website?”_

Finishing up a last set of candles at a towel-stacked counter, Sean glanced over at him, taking him in.

“A calf-length, terry cloth robe, and a pair of flip-flops,” Sean said. “The sexiest things you could find to put on, huh?”

Making his way to the alcove with the sunken tub, crushing rose petals underfoot, he ignored Sean’s superior undertone and only smiled. Peeking into the tub, he found it not just filled with hot foamy water, but also to his non surprise, floating rose petals. So were those supposed to stick to their bodies and…feel good? Frankly, it was a minor achievement that it had taken Sean this many years to introduce this level of craziness into their intimate moments.

“It’s what’s underneath that counts,” he told Sean.

“Oh, yeah? Well then, take it off. Lemme see.”

Getting comfortable on the ledge around the tub, he leaned back on his hands and returned Sean’s haughty gaze. Then he slowly spread his legs. The robe slid off his thigh, exposing him all the way up to where it mattered most. Obligingly, it also fell open to his stomach, showing his very happy trail all the way home.

Across the bathroom, Sean fell silent.

“How am I doing?” he asked him.

Sean continued eyeing the robe as though still offended by it, but also clearly liking his corrections so far.

“No surprise boxer shorts under there, I hope?”

“None whatsoever,” he said seductively.

“But I should come over there and check, right?”

Cutting off a sigh, he rolled his eyes. “Only if you feel those candles can share you, Sean,” he said, genuinely starting wonder.

Sean smiled. Then, lighting the last candle, Sean held up the wick, pursed his lips and gently blew out the flame.

—

Holden’s warm laughter had heated him faster than a room showing an amazing display of romance ever could.

And unless he was badly mistaken, and he hadn’t been mistaken about Holden’s gourmet, all-you-can-eat sexuality since experiencing it starting last August, that had been the laughter with the notes of self-awareness. The one that assured him they were one hundred percent alone, in Holden’s head as well as in their physical space. If ever there was a night to go for the championships, this was it.

Leaving the counter, he went over to where Holden was lounging beside the bathtub and wrapped his arm around his waist, moving them both into the tub clothing and all, unheeding of Holden’s protests, melting as Holden laughed himself almost to the point of drowning.

They slid into the bathtub together, the ridiculous robe immediately soaking and sinking beneath the foamy surface, getting heavy enough to simply fall off Holden’s naked body. The transition was by no means smooth, the robe plastering in some places and bulking up in others. God only knew where the flip-flops were. And Holden was still laughing, garbling something about leaves getting in his mouth, his legs hooking around his instantly setting his heart thudding. Even fully clothed, he was soaked to his skin and could feel the hair on Holden’s arms and legs brushing exposed parts of him, making him weaken with pleasure.

“This is a disaster waiting to happen,” Holden said, laughing so hard it _might_ ensure that disaster did happen. Then, extending an arm and grabbing a handle near them, Holden settled down, brought their faces very close, eyes bright, blinking wet lashes at him. “Come on,” he encouraged softly, smiling a breathtaking smile into his eyes. “Let’s both get naked so when they find us injured and drowned, they’ll know we died for love.”

He stared down at Holden, his heart thudding in his ears. Improbably, it was among the most romantic things he’d ever heard.

Holden playfully tapped the water between them, sending a tiny splash against his chest, forming a new pattern against his already soaked T-shirt.

“Do you want me to undress you?”

“Yes, please,” he said hoarsely.

Feet braced against the sides of the tub, one arm locked around Holden’s naked body and the other supporting his weight on a handle bar to keep them from collapsing into the water, he waited for Holden to reach for his jeans and unzip him. And modulated his own breathing, collecting himself and holding his position. It was basically a plank after being doused with a drum water by prankster teammates. In training he could hold the position for the coaches to a count of whatever. But he had never tried holding one while getting jerked off.

Instead, Holden’s smile had faded. Very close to him now in the tub, rather of going for his jeans, Holden had frozen, staring at his neck. Holden blinked, his hot eyes searing his skin. And suddenly Holden was touching him, patting his neck, his collarbone, underneath his jaw, as if he had never felt wet skin before. His breaths coming in faster, as if inundated with sensation.

Then Holden leaned in, sniffing his skin, bringing his fingers to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Something seemed to be happening. Beneath him, Holden had stopped moving and was blinking up at him, his eyes flashing like beams in a rogue lighthouse.

“Why do you— smell like—”

Holden again stopped, breathing deeply, staring at him.

“I smell like what?” he asked, watching him.

But Holden said nothing.

But his own senses were dinging, his thudding heart almost on fire. He recognized the dazed, bludgeoned look in Holden’s eyes. The self that had slipped free. Unbelievably, suddenly. 

Instantly, he voiced the words he’d been holding on to for nearly half a year.

“You know what you want. Go for it, sweetheart.”

Holden’s gaze dropped from his face to the foamy surface couching their bodies, where neither of them could see beneath the surface, then moved toward the other end of the tub, only now appearing to notice his stance.

“Can you hold this position?”

“Definitely.”

“Push up,” Holden said.

Without a second thought, he extended his arm.

Suddenly, Holden was undressing him. Hands on his groin, popping his buttons. Fingers scratching inexpertly at his stomach and his lower back for the hem of his T-shirt, making his body shake everywhere. Then Holden was pushing his jeans down his hips, but just enough to sink his arm down all the way to his elbow before digging his nails into his thigh.

“Fuuck,” he groaned.

Only Holden's shallow breaths warmed his neck, the water seeming cool in comparison. No other sounds came from Holden while his fingers stroked up, pushed at his balls, then stroked a fingertip into the slit of his cock.

It sent him to the point of ejaculation.

But Holden pushed his entire forearm against his cock, trapping it. And when their eyes met, Holden slowly shook his head. So he breathed and nodded, held himself.

Holden slowly pumped his arm, his eyes between their bodies as if he could see.

“Lower yourself.”

He did as instructed, his breaths brushing Holden’s face. Holden turned and kissed him, then eyes on him, began stroking him until he was panting, trying to fuck Holden’s fingertip. Holden was going to say something. Wanted to. Needed to tell him what he was thinking, what else he wanted from him as he held his position for him. Maybe what he wanted later. It was right there on his tip. Grunting, he began coming. Dipped his head, sank his teeth into Holden’s shoulder, his orgasm riding him, hard, vivid. So fucking good. Everything he’d been promised and been denied for so long, waiting for him.

His body squeezed out its final spasm, his breath returning, he still held his position. Slowly, Holden withdrew his arm and began lifting him by his torso.

Sure Holden was secure in the tub, he slowly released them both, and was pushed until he was sitting on a ledge under the water. There he sat staring at Holden, waiting breathlessly for Holden to look into his eyes and start talking to him.

To say the things that would confirm that they were finally, finally, back to this place.

But Holden’s breathing had evened, his eyes roaming over his face, he seemed to be coming back down to earth. Holden wordlessly came to him. Still constrained in his jeans under the water, he merely watched as Holden freed him.

Jeans now somewhere in the tub, Holden came forward and sat in his lap, straddled him, crushing his cock against his own. Grabbing him by the waist, he held him, then helped him move.

Holden kissed his face, his nose, slid his tongue into his mouth, got soapy water in his hair. And he was touching him everywhere under the water, holding his long legs against him, stroking the back of his thighs, up to his ass and finally using his fingers.

Holden pressed his mouth to his ear, gasping. His heart skipped, he waited.

But Holden said nothing.

Just quietly gasped, pulling his hair, calling his name, rode him. And he held him, kissed him back, until Holden was quietly coming on his stomach.

*

Something had interrupted Holden in that bathtub.

And one guess as to what it was.

Mr. Staller’s blends, however, had worked like a literal fucking-charm. Surprising even him. He was still partially hard from the way Holden had sniffed him, as if he was about to be eaten alive. But apparently, L.A. drama was even more powerful than delicately applied chemistry.

Because following their very promising start, Holden had kissed him, almost regretfully, and then left him alone in the bathroom. Gone with eyes already far away, the brief and intense peek into their depths shuttered.

So that now, inside him, was a reservoir still full and untapped and causing a liquid, sloshing need. The feeling, he knew, was mutual.

At the bedroom closet, he stopped for a second, hardly believing this was happening, before selecting a fresh pair of jeans. He slowly pulled them on.

Somehow he’d hoped that being in Miami would work magic. Especially since the day at Soirée had gone perfectly. Not like the last time with Cecelia’s moves leaning Holden in a steam. He’d thought that Holden would remember that Miami last October had been among the best nights of their relationship.

And Holden had.

But ex-boyfriends in L.A. were apparently more important.

At the moment, Holden was out on the balcony, seated on the railing, staring into the distance with the air of someone in two places at once. Was Holden really that worried about him running into his exes in parking garages or at Whole Foods or wherever?

Or was it about his friends? Alvarez’s revelations aside—he could take that in stride as things from the past—Holden’s mangled attempt at explaining his relationship with his best friend had been, well, obvious for what it was.

But the truth was that he’d had enough. Whatever it was, friends, ex-boyfriends, he’d had enough. 

_Interrupted_ really was what Holden was. 

While he was mostly caught up in fantasizing about the rewards of unlocking Holden’s bewitching sexuality, the way it made him feel, before he got back there, he needed to remember the delicate play that had been Holden opening up in the first place.

On reflection, Holden getting there had actually been a direct result of the escape from L.A. that training camp had been. Had they been in L.A., even in the private space they had achieved at his house, he wasn’t sure that Holden would have ever let himself go enough to mentally reach out to him like that. To confidently chase this level of sexual closeness.

So, now, pulling on a T-shirt, he considered the situation.

What exactly was going to happen to them on this issue?

Was the idea to spend the coming football season living in a patchwork of random opportunity? Or even the next few years? Somehow convincing Holden to leave L.A. each time they wanted to move forward as a couple, in the hopes that distance from his normal social life would afford enough sense of freedom for Holden feel confident? A freedom he knew very well to be false?

Dressed now, he stood staring down at his weekend duffle, deposited on the floor of the closet.

If Holden was _interrupted,_ it was because last summer, Holden himself had been the one to start something. A thing he’d been very careful not to push. Holden had needed to discover for himself what doors existed and which were to be opened.

But now that Holden had discovered those door, wasn’t it okay to push?

Couldn’t he just reached over and turn the knobs himself and… open doors?

He stood staring at the duffle. Then, glancing again at the balcony, he saw Holden now looking around him as if just then noticing that with all the night lights and flowered vines, it was actually very nice out there.

He brought his eyes back to the duffle.

If not tonight, then when?

—

Sean was finally out of the shower. Their very soapy bath long over, and having necessitated a thorough rinse, he’d been out and waiting some time ago. Sean, however, had not disappointed the shower gods and had remained to do whatever daily rituals they seemed to require of him. But Sean was finally out and moving about the bedroom, doing additional God only knew what. He was waiting to pitch him his idea for salvaging their summer.

Meanwhile, their entire suite smelled of vanilla and roses, for some reason. The dying petals on the bathroom floor couldn’t quite account for it, same with the candles, which were more of a maybe…sagey smell. Plus he’d been picking up on the scents since Sean’s house in Malibu, and the scent was all over Sean's body as well.

It would be really odd if Sean had started using rosewater or something for aftershave. _Really_ odd. Still, he had to admit, he found the whole package seriously fuckable.

Momentarily caught up, he closed his eyes and waited for his mounting excitement to pass, feeling it rise once more at the thought of what it had been like smelling Sean’s wet skin. It wasn’t that he particularly liked the smell of roses, although who didn’t love the smell of ice cream, but there had been something specific about the deep smells that had shaken him loose in that bathtub.

He opened his eyes and stared at the stone under his feet. Wouldn’t life be amazing if all he had to concern himself with for the next few months was to come home and wonder just what his live-in polar bear was up to suddenly smelling like roses and vanilla ice cream?

Sighing, he looked around him. Miami, despite the palm trees, was very different from L.A. The mugginess aside, which was terrible but could be managed, Miami had a thick air of sex that was largely inexplicable. And if he could feel it, he could only imagine what it felt like for Sean, who ideally would have a sexual act for breakfast and dinner. Skipping lunch only because he’d be swimming. 

The thought brought a small smile. It was so surprising, that aspect of Sean. So much that they’d first started dating, he’d found it hard to match up. A man who held fast to a no sex on a first date rule, or even a second date for that matter, with a sexual appetite that put the definition in appetite. And once they’d actually started having sex, his curiosity had only worsened. It seemed impossible that Sean could have that much discipline. That both positions could co-exist in one person. For someone like him, for whom sex had just been sex, great but routine, it had been a revelation.

But the longer they’d been together, the more he’d seen that like so many in the closet, Sean had instinctually hardwired a means of survival. For Sean it had involved mind over matter. Sean’s aromatherapy, his practice of retreating inward and calming his mind, had steadily brought a self-control that had saved him from undeniably very bad situations in his public-facing, alpha-male pro sports world. He had no idea how other gay players did it. How power and control were employed, how they supported one another. But theirs was a sealed-off world, and as often as he had wondered and asked Sean how he’d done it and how the rest of them did it, Sean had never wanted to talk about it.

And he understood some part of Sean’s reasoning. Because Sean had mentioned from their first date that he’d had weird experiences and obviously didn’t want to revisit them. And because Sean didn’t like bringing other men into their relationship. 

But he wished so much that Sean would talk to him. He wanted to know that someone had been good to him. Because now it was his turn.

And he wanted so badly to do it. He knew like a bookmark where he had left them, emotionally and physically, in their exploration of intimacy.

But he also knew that to practice the love they felt, they needed to recapture their space into which so many things had trampled. He was afraid of his outside world where they were concerned. He was no longer willing to undervalue that fact anymore. A year ago he might have felt he was overreacting to the notion. But the last six months had shown him emotional pain no one could have convinced him was possible.

On Valentine’s Day when Sean had come to stay with him, and since then spending most of his time on a Westside he disliked, he’d had a thought, _To hell with the real world._ He’d been right. He owed the world nothing. 

Glancing over his shoulder, at the palm trees, he sighed once more, resolved.

Sean had earlier been out there staring at the ocean, which lay a short distance beyond the palm trees on the hotel grounds. Meditating at it or something. The sights and sounds definitely being the mother of all “soundscapes.” Arranging paperwork for their morning return to Soirée, he’d been sitting with his back to the ocean, as he was doing now. If he didn’t see it, it didn’t exist. But, and go ahead and call him desperate, this view seem quite as menacing as the Pacific.

So… sure they could do this. Miami was the answer to all his problems.

And finally, Sean came out onto the balcony.

Dressed in ever sinfully cut dark jeans and an eye-poppingly thin, gauzy T-shirt, Sean stepped out, leaving the sliding doors open behind him. Instantly the warm sea breeze lifted the curtains, waving them off the glass of the sliding door into the bedroom like they were pointing at something very specific. The same breeze rippled the T-shirt around Sean’s body, molding the thin material to his stomach, pecs, outlining his nipples.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the sight.

And with his skin freshly scrubbed and glowing, making him look like he’d just stepped out of the pages of Sports Illustrated, the entire effect was nothing short of heart-stopping.

The whole night had felt like being in high-end soft core porn. This being the scene where the rugged hot football player with the good Christian upbringing had just walked into his manager’s suite after the game. His strict but eye-on-the-money manager, whose unending task it was to make sure that his star client stayed the course and didn’t let the day to day drama of the league get to him. And then sometimes, sometimes, there were things he had to do, things he couldn’t tell his fellow managers but which he gladly did for his special client.

A client he’d now tell that…while the team was very pleased with his performance on the field, there were other performances that needed evaluating… Provisions in his contract that needed attending to if they were to ensure the…mutual fulfillment of…all parties’ obligations.

Okay so he wasn’t a movie director and apparently his fantasizing had gotten a little rusty, because obviously the movie would play better than the office memo he was evidently composing. The movie would be deadly hot and he wouldn’t have to imagine how earnest and humble and oh so perfect Sean would be in the role.

Walking over, Sean dropped a tiny kiss to his cheek, enveloping him in his new scents of things edible and fully deserving of a blowjob. While he suppressed another frustrated breath.

That wasn’t a movie, a short time ago it was his life.

And yet he wasn’t living it.

Phone in hand, Sean moved a little to his right, and silently, intently, began scrolling through missed messages.

This was known pattern. Soon the obligatory checking would be over and the phone would be tossed onto the nearest surface. Not to crash or break like would surely happen if he tried anything like that, but to land neatly somewhere as if placed. After which Sean would be his for the rest of the night. After which, there would be no room for serious conversation.

Taking a resolute breath, he glanced at Sean. And spoke very clearly.

“Let’s relocate to Miami for the summer.”

After a long time, nothing had happened.

Sean hadn’t moved, hadn’t answered. The only sound around them was the very faint sounds of diners from somewhere in the hotel and the soft whooshing of the ocean.

But there had been a slight tightening around Sean’s eyes. He’d seen that.

“Sean,” he said. “Did you hear what I said?”

Sean still looked at his phone. Working himself up to engage.

“Yeah. I heard you, sweetheart.”

“And?”

“And how so?”

“Well,” he said, only too happy to explain. “The firm has an office here, so I could actually work from here. It’s five hours closer to Spain for when we’re ready to go take a look. And while I do know you’re not really up for making wedding arrangements our entire lives for the next three months, there’s the fact that Miami is where Soirée is located. Imagine getting Anne and Wil down here to see the ballroom once in a while.”

Sean said nothing.

“And…there’s the Atlantic. A whole new coastline to explore. I hear it’s totally different from the Pacific coast, so you could you know, go swimming and compare it or something. I was even thinking we could get a place in Key West and spend the next few months boating. Boating. Imagine that. It— it would be like we started honeymooning right this night.”

Sean had been about to dismiss him outright until that last sentence. Now Sean contemplated his phone.

“It’s a thought,” Sean said. Then slowly added, “Although I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to run away anymore.”

“Who said anything about running away? We’d just— you know, be making a decision to leave behind all the things that aren’t important right now and just have it be the two of us like it used to be. Remember? We’d go away for days, shut Paula, ESPN radio, the whole world out? It used to be amazing. Right?”

Sean stared at his phone, his eyes unreadable.

“We’ve got everything we need right here,” he concluded quietly. “I’ve got our offices. You’ve got the water. And we’ve got each other. What else do we need?”

Sean finished checking his phone. The, half turning, he sent it sailing behind him into the bedroom, where, it hardly seemed possible, but sure enough it landed squarely in a chair on the other side of the king bed.

He was still staring at the phone while Sean came and sat beside him.

Feet side by side, arms touching. The warmth of him felt wonderful. He turned, staring at Sean’s face, but Sean was looking at their feet, his mind focused. Staring at him, at his kind eyes, his gorgeous face, he wanted to float off after him.

_Please say yes… just make this easy._

After a time, Sean said, “You know what I’m thinking about?”

Heart kickstarting, he shook his head.

“I’m thinking that it’s been four years and I still go crazy looking at you.”

Sean gave him a brief glance. Not having expected that, he could think of nothing to say.

“Honestly,” Sean continued, looking down at their feet again. “Most of the time, I see you getting ready in the morning and I feel like I should just follow you around. I still don’t know how it’s possible to feel this way. But I do know one thing, Holden. It never feels like I have enough time to be with you. No, I know I’ve said it before, and I don’t mean to put any pressure on you, but I worry that it doesn’t get through to you.”

“It _does._ It— it does. Which is—”

“No, sweetheart, listen,” Sean said gently. “I want you to listen. For the past four years, every year, I’ve only wanted one thing. That from the day I get back to the day I have to leave again for the season, I would have all the time in the world with you. That I would feel that I have you completely. And some days I do. It feels like I do. Days when I feel I have your full attention.” Sean paused, his eyes firmly on their feet. “But less and less these days.”

He was frozen, his eyes on him.

“Like I said, I’m not trying to put pressure on you. I know there’s a lot going on. With your parents and the wedding and all. But… I guess it’s just hard because like you said, we used to be very good at it just being the two of us.”

Right. Weren’t they saying the same thing?

“The single best thing that ever happened to me, Holden, was what happened between us last August. And maybe I haven’t said why. It was because you showed me what you were feeling inside. You showed me what love was and how deep it could go. We’d been together for three years and all of a sudden you made love to me. I— Holden, I can’t describe to you what that felt like. It broke me.”

He stared speechlessly at Sean.

“Sometimes I wonder whether you even remember.”

He lowered his head, blinked.

“Do you remember?” Sean asked gently.

He couldn’t answer.

Sean sighed, very quietly. “I figured. But it happened, Holden.”

“No, Sean— I remember,” he said hoarsely, desperately, squeezing shut his eyes because this was insanity. How could he have fucked up so much that Sean would think this. “Of course I remember.”

“Yeah?” Sean said so sweetly, so forlornly. Then he nodded. “I’m glad, sweetheart. Because it made me realize that everything I’d held on for was real. Real and absolutely worth the wait.”

He was too embarrassed to do anything but hide his eyes, turned away, feeling crushingly that one of them was in the wrong reality, and it wasn’t Sean.

“So Holden, believe me when I tell you that I don't care what anyone is up to in L.A. I've been on a very different side of this feeling more times than I care to count and I don't take you or any of this for granted. Because I was never guaranteed that I could have it. Some mornings I open my eyes and, I won't lie to you, I get moments when I wonder if it's all a dream. Whether I'm just imagining you, or whether I really did just hear you tell me that you love me. If anything could actually be this good. So… all I know is that I don’t have to get up and lead the team in the morning, I don’t have to be in a frame of mind to talk to the managers, or the coaches, or the press, or even fucking Alastair for that matter. All I have to do is hold you in my arms. So Holden, please. Doesn’t matter whether we’re in L.A. or Miami or Kansas City. Make it always just me and you. Pay attention to us.”

Sean was looking at him now.

He turned to him, stood up to take hold of him, to pull him close and absorb his words into his body.

Instead he’d gotten up with his hand still entwined in the wrought iron railing. And with his movement his fingers caught fast in the decorative ironwork.

Pain seared his brain, making him wince and freeze in shock, staring down at his hand. Very carefully, he reached for it to attempt to extricate himself. Sean slowly stood up beside him, turned to him, gently taking his hand and delicately doing the disentanglement. In Sean’s hands, his fingers effortlessly released themselves from the metal. Sean then stood there massaging them, staring down at him.

“Do you understand me, Holden?”

He’d gotten up to hug him. Now instead he tightened his T-shirt in his fist. Deeply discomposed, by Sean’s revelations, by his own distressing confusion, which just wasn’t him, he kept hold of him. It was all he knew to do at this point. He pressed his forehead to Sean’s temple, and Sean wordlessly held him by his waist, done talking.

What was he so afraid of, when in January not even Sean’s pain and anger had stopped him from doing what he had to do?

What was it about facing his past that reduced him to a scared teen?

There was a right answer somewhere just beyond his efforts. A balance of past and future, but like puzzle pieces he couldn’t make click, he kept reaching for the wrong pieces at the wrong time.

So… what happened now?

“I have something to show you,” Sean said.

Letting go of his waist, Sean reached for the button of his jeans, at rest under the thin T-shirt. Slow movements, Sean slipped it free, lowered his zipper and spread his fly.

He’d been looking down at the unexpected actions, at Sean’s crotch, and now he stopped breathing.

So he wouldn’t think he was mistaken, Sean hooked his fingers into the jeans and pulled it down at one side, enough for him to clearly see the white elastic of the jock strap.

Eyes widening, the ground under him seemed to sway as hard as the deck of a ship.

He tightened his hold on Sean’s arm.

Sean had never— _he_ had never. Not even in October. In that hurried flash of a month, he hadn’t reached the point of confidence to ask. But here.. now…

He swallowed to relieve his dry throat, parched like he’d inhaled smoke. He felt as though he was flying.

It couldn’t be this easy. It couldn’t be as easy as seeing…this.

But the ground beneath him was dissolving, falling away, and it did feel this easy. As easy as falling in love.

“I’m— I’m not even sure what I’m even supposed to be doing,” he rasped.

“Take me inside.”

He looked up at Sean. But Sean was only looking at him, doing nothing else. Looking at him like he was a plate of food.

He dragged them both inside.

—

He could hear Sean’s heart beating. Or maybe it was his.

While for the second time that night, he pulled on Sean’s jeans, slowly pulling the material down Sean’s already flexing thighs. And then he was staring down with a beating heart at the cupped, nearly full erection waiting. He looked again at Sean, but Sean only stared submissively at him.

Making him tremble with anticipation. Lighting up memories.

He slid a hand along Sean’s hip, touching the elastic, feeling himself react with an almost painful excitement. And Sean standing so still for him felt like being drugged. Some minutes ago he seemed to have been wrestling with problems or something. Now he honestly couldn’t remember a single one as being as important as what he was about to engage in.

What he remembered was how so very good this could be, was going to be, how if he spoke to him right now, Sean would come apart for him. Do anything.

He also remembered that some minutes ago he’d inexplicably been having some kind of difficulty directing a work of pornography in his head about this very moment. The rest of the scene now came easily to him.

He was the manager. Of the hottest quarterback in the NFL. His was the task of corralling this delicate well of talent and emotional temperament. To give him attention, handle him where he needed to be handled, touch him where he needed to be touched. Take care of him.

Sean was flushed, staring at him with his head against the wall, his eyes half closed. He realized that Sean knew only too well what doors had opened in him. He wet his lips. There was so much more.

Sean slowly stepped forward, into his arms, and with his hands still on Sean’s hips, it felt like a caress he’d initiated. Sean had done it from his own lack of action, taking his approval before he had a change of heart. Sean needn’t have worried.

They were against the wall by the sliding doors. It was like getting back on a bicycle. He lowered his head, tongue out, and lapped up Sean’s nipple through the thin T-shirt. Sean gripped the back of his head, moaning quietly, but doing nothing else. More and more it was coming back. How getting what he wanted from his willing partner meant taking it.

He bit down on Sean’s nipple, sucked him, close his mouth on it, while Sean bucked slowly against him, rolled his hips forward, a move that was crazy hot and made him move to the other one, bite him there. Sean let out a soft sound of pain, which make him stop and look at him, only to have Sean drag his head back down. But he only kissed him once, before moving the T-shirt out of his line of sight, slipping a finger between the tight white elastic of the jockstrap and the burning hot skin of Sean’s hip bone. With the T-shirt mostly out of the way, he could see the tiny white Puma logo at the top of the navy blue front. A swollen, wet front, filling his senses with scents of heaven. Trailing, he slid his finger in from the side until he could touch Sean’s hot, slippery head, and watched Sean melt into the wall.

But Sean’s eyes were burning into him. Sean was gasping, panting, his skin flushed a deep red, and it wasn’t until Sean clutched the front his jersey, his gaze narrowed and focused as if he was trying not to come, that he realized he had been talking to him.

—

He had Sean on the bed, face down, and he was fucking him.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and was probably going to pass out.

Yet he had never felt more alive, more aware of his beating heart, and of the wonder he had captured beneath him.

He had a hand planted next to Sean’s head and now leaned over him, kissed his face, glued his lips to his cheek, then moved them to his ear and whispered to him: Together they would figure out the things going through his head, what they both wanted. Sean groaned, reached back, pulled him closer.

Holding himself up with one hand gripping the sheets, he pushed his hand into the front of the jockstrap until he could squeeze Sean’s cock, started thrusting into him. And then he no longer had to wonder what Sean would sound like getting fucked in a jockstrap.

Sean was moaning into the bed like he was drunk. He lost himself listening to him. So hard he didn’t think he would ever come. Then he felt himself falling apart. He lowered himself, wrapped his arms around him, started coming until he saw stars, like he hadn’t since discovering that he could do this with the man he loved.

—

At 2:17 a.m., he woke up. Turning, he saw the digital clock projection on the suite’s bedroom wall. The bathroom wasn’t the only room opulent enough to obligate sexual acts. The bedroom was also quite the scene. Soft spot lighting, billowy curtains, oversized bed, textured wallpaper.

Beside him, Sean was fully lights out and had been so for hours. The need for a snack was what had woken him. But he was lying in a state of euphoria and wanted nothing to disturb him. On his back, Sean’s arm across his waist bolting him to the bed, he contemplated just how badly he needed that snack.

It all felt so right, his mind so peaceful, that the entire last six months seemed like nothing but a fucked up dream.

Wasn’t he actually in Miami and hadn’t they just peeled back another layer of what he know he inside him to offer the love of his life. It was October and life actually was very unmysterious and simple. You just had to hold onto your yourself.

When his stomach grumbled a second time though, he decided that there might be more to life than just that.

Locating a lamp switch above the bed, he pushed it on and recessed lighting shone in soft spotlights on the bedroom floor. Having long since learned how to free himself from under Sean’s very heavy arm, he slowly sat up, and it slid easily from him. In the past, sitting up normally, it would lock and nearly kill him. He presumed it was some form of football practice drill, easing off versus a sudden pushback that made Sean react like someone was trying to tackle him.

All part of his very interesting life with Sean Jackson.

Seated on the edge of the bed, he reached for his phone on the nightstand, wanting to read the text that had come in earlier in the evening from Elliot.

_Hope the talk’s going well._

He stared blankly at the message before setting the phone back down and getting up and making his way to the kitchen.

Inside the fridge, he found fresh fruits and juices and water. Praying that he hadn’t been imagining things, he opened the freezer and thanked God when the Häagen Dazs he’d glimpsed earlier turned out to be real. There were several of them in fact, and he took his time selecting between plain vanilla, chocolate, or more exotic flavors. A true struggle. Ultimately an exotic but vanilla-based piece of temptation won out. Why not have it all.

Back at the bedroom, he stood in the doorway eating his ice cream, staring at Sean’s naked body on the bed.

Surrounded by sheets and illuminated by spotlights, Sean was on his stomach, spread from his side of the bed to his half, still in the jockstrap.

Once upon a time, he’d thought that focusing on the specifics of sexual desire was shallow. That wanting to act out in certain ways with Sean somehow made him superficial. But Sean, and even Elliot, had gifted him the understanding that at least for him, not only wasn’t it superficial, it was fundamental to how he felt love. Intimacy by confidence to express his sexual fantasies. This feeling, what he was feeling now, was complete to him. If Sean had earlier so directly put into words what they had unlocked since last year, he only knew how to reference it by giving it performance. To show with his mouth and hands and body what his heart couldn’t seem to express any other way. Call him whatever. But following an adulthood of checking his desires, of not wanting to ask and not be able to receive anything fulfilling, he saw now that he had received everything.

Last year, he had been pursing this feeling at a fast and steady pace, without the ability for pause and reflection. Natural, of course, as in the midst of self discovery and earth moving experiences, feeling his mind open and the floor of his world give, there had been no room for examining the what and why.

But as naturally as following his desires had simply flowed, he felt now that he could hold those desires in one hand, and in the other observe them.

Last year while trying to get himself to this place, it had felt like trying to voluntarily push himself off a cliff. But now, on the other side of that rush, he could understand why it had felt so hard, and why he’d spent the last six months doing his best not to look at it again. At least until he could find a safe place from which to do so. Because it _was_ going off the edge of a cliff. And like falling upward in gravity, it wasn’t possible.

If now he went back into the private places he had been socializing in as an adult, he wasn’t going to be able to hide any of this from anyone. This change that being like this with Sean had brought on him. It would be on him like a scent. Elliot had correctly put it that last winter he had been on a drug high. Chasing Sean all over the country, city to city, hotel to hotel, he couldn’t even remember half the events he’d attended back in L.A. or who might have said what to him.

But this time, it wouldn’t be like that.

This time, Sean would be sitting right next to him. And all of him, not just their magic and secrecy, would be put on the table for all to see. He would be open for business. For every guy he had ever walked away from. For every slighted ex-partner to walk back and ask questions.

There were questions.

Many, and of a type he had no wish to answer.

Ultimately, all said and done, there lay the center of his problems.

And as easily as he now identified it, the answer also came.

He had heard everything Sean had said on the balcony. Not his friends, his father or his mother, but him. And he had to believe— he did believe— that he and no one else held the right answer.

He looked down at his ice cream, half melted on its stick. Without another thought he left the doorway and went into the bathroom where he dumped it, then went over to the sink and began washing his hands.

Sean had given him everything. Walking himself out of a maze of fear and hiding, ready to lose it all. Because of him. Though his brilliant plan to create a place for them far from L.A. had not panned out, coming to Miami had still given him headspace to think. The break he’d needed. And he knew for certain now that he had no business taking Sean into those places from his past. He’d never questioned that Sean owed nothing to men who could be too-cynical and forget that not every gay man had their privileges in West Hollywood or Bel Air. Taking care of Sean was his responsibility now, and he was going to do it right. 

Rather than throw Sean to the wolves, as his friends seemed to believe was best, he was going to protect Sean from them. He needed to own his own mistakes, but at his own pace, and not ruin his relationship based on hope and conjecture.

Hands dried, he ran his hand through his hair, checked his face for ice cream residue. Then he stared at his reflection in the mirror, acknowledging that he had made a decision on this issue and he was happy with it. The he left the bathroom with all its melted candles, the overhead lights fading out after him.

At the foot of the bed, he watched Sean for a moment, then slowly climbed in, moving until he was next to him. Propped on his elbow, he touched his face. Sean didn’t wake. His gorgeous, giving, love doll. He was the owner of this man and he was responsible for him. He kissed his jaw. Sean still didn’t wake. For the next few minutes he watched him sleep. And just as he was himself about to fall asleep, Sean opened his eyes.

They stared at each other. He smoothed his hand down Sean’s back, under the elastic down to his ass. Held him, stroked him. Sean lowered his arm so that their bodies could get closer, turned his face into his neck and gasped softly against his skin. He continued stroking him, watching him flush and press his lips to his skin as he fell back asleep. He kissed, inhaling the scents that had driven him wild, now mingled with the delicious smell of spent sex. And touched him in a way that he hoped would let him know that he remembered, that he had long since made him his.

*


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning he was up bright and early, showered, arranging their breakfast before Holden had even turned over in bed, still preparing for morning like an egg being made sunny side up.

The hotel was already on alert that he had come ready to make all kinds of personalized orders. Now he called them early to inform them of his order to include coconut waffles and an almond syrup that he’d ascertained was available before he’d left L.A. It was all there.

The only thing he hadn’t anticipated was Alastair calling.

Eyes on his phone, he contemplated answering. Being Sunday morning, knowing that Alastair and Cecelia monitored their son’s movements, he was sure that Alastair wanted to know how Soirée had gone. He held the phone close, at the suite’s door waiting to let the waitstaff in. He’d have good news for Alastair. Their visit yesterday had gone spectacularly well. And this morning he expected nothing but smooth sailing.

But...he didn’t really know that he could have a conversation with Alastair at the moment. The suite’s doorbell ding-donging, the choice was made for him. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and went for the door.

The waiter pushed the overloaded cart in, rolling for the middle of the suite parlor.

And then, kind of unbelievably, his phone was buzzing once more. This time it was Davey. But... it was...barely 9 am in the Midwest. Had to be important. He answered, and then was staring impassively at the floor as Davey started in on something about something. London and their suits, maybe. When Davey realized that he hadn’t responded to anything he’d been saying beyond “Uh-huh,” Davey paused.

“Jay, this a bad time?”

“No, not at all.”

And he again fell silent, smiling at the waiter, who was smiling back at him. After a strange moment, he remembered and tipped him. The waited thanked him and left, closing the door behind him.

“Then why do you sound kinda…”

Davey stopped talking, and he wasn’t talking, only staring at the floor.

“I’ll call you later,” Davey said.

“Yeah,” he said, now smiling. “Talk you later, Davey.”

There was a long pause.

“You doofus,” Davey said, and disconnected.

He lowered the phone and smiled.

—

As they departed their suite early for a brief return to Soirée and then a return to L.A., Sean, having insisted on carrying both their weekend bags, one in hand and the other slung across his shoulders, exited the suite and began walking in the wrong direction from the elevators.

At first wondering whether he was the one in the wrong, he watched in surprise as Sean headed down the opposite end of the hallway, toward what he presumed was the other suite on the floor, before softly calling to him.

Sean turned and looked at him, a strangely hopeful expression on his face.

Surprised, by both the look and the error in Sean’s usually perfect sense of bearing, he stuck his finger toward the elevators.

Sean appeared confused, not even seeming to know what floor they were on. Sean looked about the hallway, then seemed to notice the elevators, and with a pressed smile and a nod, started coming back.

He watched, baffled, following him into the elevator.

Inside the elevator, Sean stood at the front with their bags… and made no attempt to push the buttons.

Confusion mounting, he did it on his side. And as they started moving, Sean looked up at the indicator lights as if he had never seen an electronic display before.

In a corner, he stood staring, not sure what was happening.

All morning, Sean had been nothing but smiles. Up well before him, Sean had showered and was in the living room and had ordered breakfast even before he was fully awake but still in bed imagining the quantity of coffee that would be enough to get him going.

During breakfast, he’d noticed that Sean had been stealing quick looks and giving him a lot of smiles. Busy organizing that paperwork for Soirée, he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary beyond the effervescent shy smiling. And had assumed it as leftovers from their unbelievable night. Sean before sex was all focus and more focus, but afterward behaved as if he’d just had a love poem sky-written across Malibu for him.

Now though, he noticed that something was definitely off.

Romantic-minded as Sean could get, Sean was never this… absent.

Downstairs, a town car from Soirée awaited them. But making it through the lobby was interesting enough. Apart from the one or two double takes from guests, held his attention was that Sean was actually allowing the hotel porter to take their luggage. Sean didn’t even seem aware that it was happening, nodding vacantly as the porter expertly relieved him of the bags and started toward the hotel’s entrance.

And outside, while the porter loaded the trunk and the chauffeur held open the back door of the town car, instead of continuing toward the car, Sean simply stopped near it staring at the porter doing his job, as if he had never seen anything so engaging.

Continuing for the car, he took Sean’s hand and discreetly pulled him along. Sean came and entered after him. Sat back and flashed him a small, self-conscious smile.

Staring at Sean, at his weirdly perfunctory smile, he couldn’t think of anything to say for moment.

“Did you forget something in the suite?” he finally asked him.

Sean flashed him another quick smile and shook his head no.

And while Sean sat there staring at his own knees, he searched his face for clues, trying to understand what was happening.

“Are you okay?”

Sean turned an attempt at an interested, engaged look to him. “Yeah. I’m fine. You?”

Somehow, he managed to keep his eyebrows from going up. Was _he_ okay? But the question made him consider that he might be the one being over inquisitive and weird. So he said he was fine. Sean nodded and turned and stared out his side window. Figuring he’d stop bothering him, he pulled out some reading.

At Soirée’s atrium, Marissa greeted them, all pleased smiles, before leading them to her office. She was sending them off with their new, official wedding binder, a sable leather tome capturing and detailing their entire profile, that was also a keepsake of their planning phase.

He really couldn’t wait to show this to Anne. It was impressive and visually captivating, featuring stunning full page photographs of their arrangements from floral to furniture and everything they’d seen in the ballroom, listing guest names associated with which side, seating plans, options for the weekend’s itinerary, their gift registry, and their names and wedding date inscribed inside the back cover. And it still came with sectioned pouches for their checklists and additional paperwork. He really liked that. Any changes, Marissa explained, would be couriered weekly to replace the pages inside.

“Hard copies are great for keepsake,” Marissa told them. “But we find that getting physical mail also acts like reminders to keep you on track.”

They were at her office center table and he was paying attention, nodding to let her know he was following, whereas to his left, Sean didn’t seem to be in the room with them. Sean was nodding, but it looked to him like Sean was also finding it difficult to stay focused.

Something was definitely off with Sean. Was it regret that they weren’t spending more time in Miami after all? That hopeful look in the hallway had seemed like Sean had wanted him to say they were returning to the suite for the rest of the weekend. Even if, it wasn’t like Sean to mope. Or more precisely, to space out and fantasize to the extent that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings.

When Marissa turned the pages to indicate what she was referring to about the place for changes, Sean didn’t seem to know anymore how turning a page worked. Sean had to glance at him, and seeing from the corner of his eyes, he simply, slowly turned the page until Sean, hands on his own copy of the binder, imitated his action.

Sean then caught him looking. And smiled.

A dead sexy, kind of self-conscious smile. Like, date smiling.

Ignoring him, he kept his eyes on the paperwork on Marissa’s table, wondering what the fuck. Even in private this would have been weird. Sean was acting like someone who’d lost _brain cells._

And then the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

This _was_ October all over again.

In October and in fact throughout that entire period, each of their hookups had ended with him leaving the next morning, most times even before Sean was out of bed, so he could catch early flights back to L.A. He’d never been around when Sean woke up and had to get back to his day. He’d never seen the aftermath.

Was this how things looked the following morning? It must have been.

And must have built up until Sean had been completely incapable of even holding a football that final day in the game against the Chiefs!

Sean _had_ lost brain cells.

Astounded, now hardly listening to Marissa, he struggled to keep from looking at Sean. Was something like this even possible? Like being _drunk_ on sex? Sean was over there almost literally mentally vaporized. Of course it had been amazing last night. Words couldn’t even begin to describe how amazing. But… _his_ brain was still intact…

But he was seeing this. And Paula hadn’t even questioned it back in October and had just done what needed to be done. As discreetly as he could, he slipped another quick glance at Sean, who was still trying to make of show of attentively looking at his open binder and was fooling no one.

He kept a straight face and stared at the table. It should have been funny but it—

Well, no, it just kind of was.

How long did it last? Hours or days? No, it couldn’t be days. Just like with any form of intoxication, it had to wear off pretty quickly, right? Although, when Sean had chased him all the way back to L.A. from Kansas, if he remembered right, it had been a couple days later. But… Sean must have had to get back to practice after that Chiefs game, so maybe… three days?

“Excuse me for a moment please,” Marissa said.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem,” he quickly said, watched as she got up and went to her desk to grab her scheduler. They were to set tentative dates for their trip to Spain.

And as soon as her back was turned, Sean slowly touched his knee to his, gently caressing him.

He stared down at Sean’s knee, resisting the urge to close his eyes in disbelief. Now he realized that this was what people were really afraid of when they asked if their partner would still respect them in the morning after sex.

God only knew how he wasn’t laughing himself as senseless as Sean was. Inclined as he was to take his hand or something, he just didn’t see how that would help.

Marissa returned and they set a tentative date for the trip, with him simply giving her a date from his calendar and planning to speak with Kara about Sean’s.

Finally, they were done. He stood up, Marissa stood up, Sean stood up and picked up their binders— and sent everything crashing to the floor.

He was simply too surprised to move. Marissa had bent, as had Sean, with her apologizing on their behalf. Sean was agreeing with her, still he took the binders, then proceeded to hold them no more securely than before. It was unbelievable! He’d picked up his brief, into which they could just put the binders, but he didn’t know how he could begin talking Sean into handing them over without the whole thing looking disturbing to Marissa. So he just followed as Marissa walked them back into the atrium. And seeing as _he_ wasn’t capable of seeing things he wasn’t supposed to bump into, he began praying that there was nothing between their car and their flight that could injure them.

At the front doors, instead of taking Marissa’s hand for her usual handshake, Sean leaned in and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek.

Marissa fought off a startled look, then darkened in a sudden blush, which she covered by laughing lightly and glancing at him.

As damage control, he followed up with a hug of his own.

“We’re very happy with your changes,” he explained, and she smiled and nodded.

He smiled, told her he’d be emailing as soon as he had Sean’s dates and followed Sean out.

Inside the town car, Sean set the binders between them and took his hand. Lacing their fingers, Sean settled back into the seat. Then, staring out the window, he began circling his thumb against the inside of his palm, slowly, like trancing himself.

Turning to Sean, he stared at him and said in a lowered voice, “All right. I’m gonna ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me because I have people and I’m not afraid to use them. Who are you and what have you done with Sean Jackson?”

Sean broke into a soft, really dopey laughter, only making the overall impression worse.

Staring at their hands now, Sean looked briefly at him, then back out the window and simply pulled their locked hands into his lap.

—

This time Sean was awake on the flight home. Awake and occasionally staring his soft look across the top of his laptop at him. Supposedly reading on said laptop as he was.

 _The quarterback for the San Diego Chargers seems a little back to himself,_ he thought, amusing himself imagining how the football commentators would say it. _His demeanor has gone from very dopey to slightly less dopey. A very subtle change, Jim. But there nonetheless. There is hope yet for his team._

Sean suddenly closed the laptop, leaning across the space at him, arms folded across his knees, eyes locked on him.

With the leaning in, his eyes moved to and stayed on Sean’s neck and arms. He might know it intellectually, but it was going to take a while to not believe that his attraction to Sean’s body wasn’t anything but shallow sexual attraction. He didn’t really want to think about the men in his past, but it was impossible not to _see_ that he had never had anyone close to the type of physical shape Sean was in. It wasn’t that physicality had dictated his choicest in the past. He had appreciated and gone with many different aspects in his partners. But with Sean it was body. And height. And skin. And his eyes. _Those eyes,_ as Petey had once summarized.

He loved him so much, despite Sean’s present mental challenges. And it seemed absolutely stupid and outrageous that men he had dated in his past wanted to encroach on this total, world consuming love.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

And he also definitely recognized that tone. At work on the annotations he hadn’t been able to finish on their flight going in, he cautiously met Sean’s eyes.

“Thanks for everything,” Sean said softly.

“You mean our setup at Soirée? Yeah, I thought those runners were pretty out of this world too.”

“I meant last night.”

He knew. And smiled. “You made a good pitch for it.”

Brushing his thumb across his lower lip, Sean slowly touched the tip of his tongue to it, blinking heavily at him.

“You mean there’s room for improvement?”

He gave Sean a pointed look, and just as pointedly looked around them at the jet’s cabin. “We can have this talk later,” he said causally.

Long moments later, Sean still hadn’t sat back. Instead, Sean leaned in even more.

“You ever thought about of joining the mile high club?”

At first the words made little sense, only making him wonder which concierge service that was. Until he remembered exactly what the mile high club was. 

He shook his head, returned to work.

“You know, Sean,” he said. “Never mind that no sex rule of yours, I knew you were in fact a sex maniac the minute I laid eyes on you.”

A quiet pause descended on their quiet flight.

“I find that hard to believe,” Sean said.

“That I knew you were a sex maniac?”

“No, you’d have seen that had you actually looked at me. No, what I find hard to believe is that you paid enough attention to me to make up a full minute.”

He gave him a tolerant look. “I gave you whole minutes. I was mesmerized by you.”

“Bullshit,” Sean said softly. “You thought I was an airhead.”

He made an appalled face, keeping his eyes firmly on his documents. “I did not.”

“You thought I was an airhead,” Sean went on dreamily. “And I thought this is it. The most beautiful man in the world is standing next to me. And smiling, however disinterestedly, at me. I thought it was as good as it got. And,” Sean continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was okay that you hardly paid attention to me. I was fine to walk away just having spent a few minutes in your presence watching you dazzle everyone there. I was was fine to dream about you for the rest of my life.”

He slowly raised his eyes at Sean. “We’re not fucking in the bathroom.”

Sean fell silent. “Can you give me a reason?”

“Besides the fact it’s a public bathroom and therefore gross? One guess, Sean.”

“Come on. It smells like Calvin Klein Home in there. It’s clean. And not like you have to worry about cops, either, like when you wouldn’t do it in the car in Johnston. It’s just us here.”

“And the flight crew. Of a charter service we use all the time, including for clients. How am I supposed to look any of them in the eye again?”

“You’re kidding, right? They’ll think you’re God’s gift. Which you are, by the way,” Sean said softly.

He could only shake his head, smiling. Maybe one day during the season, he might actually be able to get Sean to take his jeans off for him on a video call and make his year. Half their separation problems might get solved there and then.

Sighing quietly, Sean sat back. And after peeking he verified that Sean had in fact returned to whatever he was reading on his laptop.

A romantic sex maniac. Only he could have pulled that particular crazy-straw. 

Several minutes later, only the soft whine of the jet’s engines remained.

So back to L.A. it was.

L.A. and the real world.

After about twenty minutes, one set of annotations complete, he turned and stared out the cabin window, at the morning sun on the cloud layer below them tinting the fluffy white into a light, glowing blue.

_Here we go._

*

_Part IV coming asap!_


End file.
